


Kill My Boyfriend

by therraggedydoctor



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst, Fluff, Graphic Violence, M/M, Smut, alternative universe, serial killer au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 13:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1690454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therraggedydoctor/pseuds/therraggedydoctor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve is a police officer, working for an organization called S.H.I.E.L.D. that deals especially with murders. After sixty-one muders in seven weeks they finally find evidence - a hair that probably belongs to the killer and a person who knows the sixty-second victim. But when Steve discovers who the killer is he is desperately trying to find a way of not getting him to jail for the murders he committed. Because it wasn't his fault at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill My Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> Argh, I am going to die. This has been written while I was half-dead because of allergies, so excuse my horrible writing. Also excuse all my spelling and grammar mistakes, I am not a native english-speaker. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it <3

(Ring. RING.)

Steve woke up to the sound of his alarm clock, and he knew that this would be a horrible day. He got up, took a shower and got dressed. As soon as possible, he rushed out of his little apartment in Brooklyn and got a coffee. The streets were already busy, although it was only six in the morning. There were people yelling at each other, cars everywhere and people like Steve, who were trying to get to work like they would do every day.

The sky was dark and gray. It was surely going to rain today, and Steve was not looking forward to it. He had always hated rain and cold and being wet. He buried his fists in his pockets and tried not to look at the people on the streets.

Steve hits someone accidently with his elbow.

“Ouch! Pay attention!” that someone yells. It’s a man, around twenty-five years old, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. Steve can understand the cap, but sunglasses? On a rainy day in late September?

“Sorry,” he says.

The guy shakes his head and walks away.

(Odd.)

 

When Steve finally gets to his office, Sam is already waiting, drinking coffee out of a dirty mug.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says when he sees Steve’s expression. Steve just sits down at his desk and stares at Sam.

“Please tell me we don’t have a new case today,” he says, looking exhausted. The last case, the murder of a young woman, had required him to stay up for three days straight without getting any sleep, and in the end they didn’t even get the guy that did it.   
Sam’s expression changes from a big smile to his serious face that he only gets when somebody just got killed while he and Steve were asleep in their beds. Sam wanted to save everybody and it hurt him personally when somebody didn’t make it.

“Fury told me there was another murder,” Sam said and sighed.   
“There’ve been a lot of them recently,” Steve says and Sam nods.

Yeah. The last few weeks had been full of dead bodies, blood and dirty back alleys. And they could never find the killer, not in a single case. Sam and he had tried everything and did their best, but nothing worked and that frustrated both of them. Steve had thought about quitting, but that would be even worse, because than he would feel like it was his fault that the guys who killed those people weren’t caught. He had to do at least _something_. But sixty-one murders in seven weeks was a lot, even for New York City. Steve knew the numbers, that there was an average of 1.31 people killed each day, but it was still frustrating. Of course they didn’t handle each of those cases, but a few. And even though they were used to violence, seeing dead bodies every day was not exactly nice. The worst thing was that Fury, his boss, thought there would be some kind of pattern. _What_ pattern exactly he wouldn’t tell, but Steve and Sam both thought that their boss was nuts even thinking about something connecting the murders. There had been people from all age groups, all occupations, all genders, all religions, all social backgrounds and all nationalities. The girl they found last week, Eliza Williams, had been Catholic and came from Scotland. She had been living with her aunt for the summer.   
Just as Sam also sat down, Nick Fury came in. He still was wearing his coat, although the building was as hot as a summer day in central Africa. Steve wondered why the guy wasn’t dying from heat.

“We just had a call come in. Get off your lazy asses and go to work,” he said. He gave them the address and then almost immediately disappeared.

“Well, that was nice,” Sam said and put on his jacket. “Get going Steve.”

“I’m coming, don’t worry,” Steve said.

(Ruffling of a leather jacket. They get into the car.)

 

(Police sirens. Wilson and Rogers come in, freezing, wet from the rain.)

“What do we have?” Sam asked someone, while Steve put on those horrible gloves they had to wear and went to look at the body. It’s a woman in her forties, hair dyed blond, eyes closed. She was lying on her back and it was obvious that she had been stabbed. Her shirt used to be white, now it was red from dried blood. She was wearing a knee-long skirt. People told him she had not been raped, just killed. There was no obvious connection to the other murders. They secured some evidence, but there was not a lot that Steve and Sam could do. They basically just stood around looking like they had important stuff to do.

(And then a cry.)

“We found a hair that is definitely not hers,” one of the people said. He held up a plastic bag that seemed to be empty, but Steve knew that it could help find the killer. He felt hope in his chest and was actually smiling a little bit.

“That’s amazing,” he said, and he meant it. The last few murders they investigated were hopeless cases. They had not found anything at all. And now a hair that could possibly belong to the killer. Sure, it was a back alley in New York City, a lot of people probably lost hair in here, but not _on the body itself._ Steve was excited.

(Then Wilson shouted.)

  
“Hey, what is this guy doing here?” Sam shouted.

Steve turned around and was surprised to see the man he hit with his elbow earlier this morning standing on the street and watching what is going on. His hands were shaking. He was still wearing sunglasses.

(Who wore sunglasses on a rainy day in September?)

“I’m … I think … I think I know her,” the man said. He came towards Steve and Sam and looked over their shoulders at the body. They tried to stop him, but the guy was strong. After he saw the body, he broke down and started sobbing.

(Can somebody get this boy a blanket?)

 

His name was James, James Barnes. He had been in the military, served in Afghanistan, had killed people, but when he had seen the dead body of Deborah Jones, his next door neighbor, he had broken down. Steve and Sam took him out of the alley to ask him questions, but he was too shocked to answer any of them regarding Deborah. He told them where he was this night, when Deborah was killed. He had talked to his ex-girlfriend, Natasha, and tried to convince her to come back to him, but it didn’t work. He talked about her and how wonderful she was. Steve and Sam shared a look, then Sam asked for Natasha’s full name and her address so they could ask her as soon as possible if James’ alibi was real and not made up. Then they brought him home and he showed him Deborah’s apartment. They would look at it after lunch.

(Poor James.)  
Steve was sure they would meet again when the sad guy who had been so rude this morning disappeared into his apartment, trying to hold back his tears.

 

(His name was James, but he preferred Bucky.)

As soon as he closed the door behind him, he stopped fake crying. He got a tissue and wiped his face clean, then he washed his hands and got rid of both the sunglasses and the baseball cap. Then he started breathing. The boss would kill him.

They had found a hair. Of his. He was about to get killed by the man who told him to kill people. Bucky sank to the floor and buried his face in his hands. He would just go on, not tell him about anything. Maybe in jail he would actually be safe from his boss. Maybe he should’ve just gone out and told those police guys that apparently knew better how to handle dead bodies than actually living people that he killed Deborah, who had been a very sweet lady. Bucky had enjoyed getting to know her, but when he was told he had to kill her, he did it.

Bucky broke down and started crying for real.


End file.
